Sins Of the Father
by Syranda
Summary: Post HBP. Draco is on the run with his fellow death eaters. He is being dragged further and further into the dark side and he's slowly losing the little good left in him. But will the sins of the father become sins of the son or can he still be saved? HxD
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hi there. I decided to take this story back up, but rewrite everything I had before and make it longer. I have also decided that there will be eventual slash, so I'm warning you in advance to make sure that if you don't like that kind of thing not to read this. Otherwise please R&R with any feedback. Thanx**

Prologue

It's a funny thing, insomnia. It's what one imagines purgatory to be like; the uncomfortable numb sensation, the isolation and of course the feeling that you have all of eternity to lie there and regret all of your wrong doings and short comings. It's about as effective as the hold of a dementor.

As he lay there awake and shivering curled into a tight ball on the damp cave floor, Draco Malfoy did indeed have much he had lived to regret and he accounted each in agonizing detail. Like an old movie, images of that night played in his mind over and over; the students and teachers running around in a panic dodging the array of curses sent flying at them from all sides by his fellow death eaters, the faint smell of something burning, himself ducking through the chaos and slipping up the spiral staircase up into the tower and casting the dark mark...

He recalled how he lay in wait for Dumbledore - how he had come so close to fulfilling his duty to the Dark Lord, to saving his family from the wrath his father's failure had brought upon them. Instead Draco had given into his weakness and allowed the old fool to cast doubt in his mind with the empty promises of freedom and protection.

"_Draco, Draco, you are not a killer" _Even the memory of his knowing smile irked Draco to his very core. Why? Why was it so difficult? He had been building up to that moment for _months_. How could he have choked like he did? He thought he knew what ending a life would mean. He thought that he believed in his cause enough to take the plunge.

In the end Snape came to his rescue and ended Dumbledore's miserable life for him, effectively ruining any chance Draco had at redemption with the Dark Lord or the coot's protection.

_Curse him, the miserable bat just couldn't resist the temptation to interfere and steal the limelight, just like he had been trying to do the whole damn year. _ Thought Draco bitterly

But what was most surprising to Draco was that, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that what ate at him was that he didn't fulfil his purpose, his real regret was witnessing the murder of what he knew in his heart to be a good man. He counted himself a coward for standing idly by and allowing this to happen, all for the fear of losing his own neck. This was a man who wanted to help him, a man who saw the potential for good within him; the potential for a man different from his father.

These thoughts irked Draco. They were not in his character. This is what he had wanted wasn't it? To join his parents in their faithful service to the Dark Lord, to prove himself and to gain the fear, power and respect that was earned through the loyal service to Him.

No – it scared him to admit it, even in his own thoughts, but something within Draco had changed that night. He understood now that the glory and honour he sought was nothing but a mirage; it had seemed so real out on the edge of his horizon, only to vanish in the mist and be replaced with the harsh reality of blood, shame and regret.

"Not that it matters much," he remarked bitterly to himself, "I'm already past the point of no return. I'm trapped."

He abandoned the quest for sleep and sat up in his sleeping bag turning his face towards the fire that had all but died out. It cast a faint glow over his travelling companions - the death eaters that managed to escape with him from the raid of Hogwarts. They were in hiding, awaiting summons, and in Draco's case, final judgement.

Nearest to him was his former professor and his godfather, Severus Snape. They had never been close before, only crossing paths at various social functions of his parent's and later in classes, but Draco had to admit that Snape was always like his unseen keeper. He always sent Draco the best birthday presents, protected him from potential bullies and trouble in school, and later stopped the news of some of his fatal errors from reaching the Dark Lord, even making excuses and taking punishment for him. The man had taken the _Unbreakable Vow_ for him after all, and no matter how angry and cheated Draco felt by Snape taking over his mission, he knew that if Snape wasn't here he would be completely lost and terrified (or at least, more than he was now). He gazed at the dark haired man as he tossed and turned silently in his sleep, pained expressions ghosting across his face, and realised that Snape had cast a silencing spell on himself so as not to alert his companions to his nightmares.

_Interesting, _thought Draco, _could he also be feeling the weight of the blood on our hands. Could he be feeling this all-consuming revulsion at all we have seen and done tonight? Or are his fears more about accumulated evil acts that he can no longer live with_?

To his left lay Amycus and Alecto Carrow who (though perhaps the most stable of present company) were a little _too _close for siblings to be, making Draco nervous to be alone with them. Their family had always been the subject of gossip and rumours in the Pureblooded circles for their strange and uncomfortable conduct (even if some could call the old families 'inbred', none were so bad as the Carrow family). They were middle ranked deatheaters despite any such stories, due mostly to their duelling proficiency and their ability to concoct and execute the most complex of raids.

Next to them was Baldomero Kingsolver; a rather gruff and characteristically silent man with a heavy emotionless face. Draco didn't know much about Kingsolver as he was not part of his parent's social circles. All he knew was he wouldn't be crossing the quietly intimidating Irish man anytime soon.

The man farthest from him (thankfully) was Fenrir Greyback – if you could call such a malicious beast a man. He barely even resembled a man anymore with his wild grey hair, bushy eyebrows, claws and sharpened fangs, instead choosing to give himself over completely to the beast inside him. Draco feared Greyback above all others of the Dark Lord's followers, even if he was so low ranking that he hadn't even earned the Mark.

At this, Draco examined his own Dark Mark that had been etched into his skin; a mark that he knew that no spell, nor potion, nor magic ointment would ever rid him of. He would be tainted for the rest of his life and long after his death until the flesh of his corps rotted off entirely. It was in this moment that he resigned himself to the path of a death eater, the path of his father. The path of a coward.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here's chapter two. Didn't update as quickly as I liked do to my biology exam today, but updates should be much faster now that that is out of the way. My beta of choice is still writing, so none of this has been checked, so please be kind in regards to any errors (though if you can point them out in your review that would be very helpful)**

**Not much to say except thank you to those who added me to their story alert lists. Please leave a review at the end of the chapter to tell me what you liked and what you don't.**

**Also, because I forgot the first time around, I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters, locations, plot lines etc. All recognisable elements belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making any money off of this and no copy right infringement is intended. **

Chapter 1: Crime and Punishment

It seemed that Draco had just sunk into a tortured sleep, when he was pulled out of his visions of ghostly blue eyes and half-moon spectacles by a sharp burning sensation on his left forearm. He heard the others jump up immediately to answer their master's call (it seems that a week of waiting was over), and before he could so much as open his eyes, he felt a pair of calloused, clawed hands grab him and yank him to his feet.

"Wake up, you useless snivelling heap!" Those awful yellow eyes burned into mine, "You think you can pull a stunt like you did and _still_ dare to sleep in when the Dark Lord calls us? You will be lucky to be alive by –"

Greyback's growling was cut short as Snape sent a mild stinging curse his way. "You are not among animals here, Greyback," Snape drawled, as if bored, "Perhaps if you cut down on such beastly behaviour the Dark Lord would see fit to acknowledge your pathetic existence."

A deep growl built up in Greyback's chest, and for a moment Draco thought that he would attack Snape, but Kingsolver stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on the werewolf's shoulder. "We don't have time for this crap." He said shortly, "We have our orders and it we are going to damn well follow them. Put the kid down and get on with it." Greyback grudgingly dropped Draco to the floor, and disapparated with a pop. He was followed shortly by the Carrow siblings and Kingsolver, leaving Draco alone with Snape for a moment.

"We'd best hurry. Try not to make a nuisance of yourself in future." Draco knew that this was as close as the Potions master would come to expressing genuine concern for him – you don't last very long as a death eater by spouting touching speeches and heartfelt words. Draco nodded and took Snape's arm in order to apparate to the Dark Lord's latest lair (when one spends most of their free time trying to further a megalomaniac's evil schemes, there's not much time for such trivial things as apparition tests).

One split second of absolute discomfort later (Draco never understood why any wizard in their right mind would choose apparition over a faithful broom, or in the very least floo powder), they arrived at a familiar set of imposing iron gates.

Draco gasped, "Here? He's chosen here?" _No..._ He glanced over at Snape, seeking support, or some kind of confirmation that he hadn't woken up yet, or some other such fantastic explanation for all of his worst fears to be realised.

Snape simply frowned and put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "We best catch up." He said simply, jaw set in grim determination, gesturing to the four black robes already walking towards the Manor.

Draco walked through the gates, and began the journey across the grounds towards the home he had grown up in, as the last evidence of the day melted into an inky blackness. He passed the rose bushes his mother insisted on planting by hand, the greenhouse where he'd had his first disagreement with a venomous tentaculous, the pitch where he'd learned to ride his first broom and the stunning white peacock he used to chase around the garden when he was five. Yes, this was the setting of his first great adventures, his first accidents and injuries and most of his fond memories from the first eleven years of his life – and yet it was not that place at all anymore. It was like walking through a twisted caricature, some horrible haunted house parody. It was like in an instant his beautiful family home had been transformed into your run-of-the-mill evil mastermind's mansion, and all the warmth and colour had been sucked out. All that was missing was the thundercloud.

Soon enough they caught up to the rest of their party, and when Kingsolver pulled Snape to the outskirts of the group to mumble to him about something, Greyback took his opportunity to saddle up to Draco and whispered into his ear, _"You know, I'm really looking forward to watching Him paint the walls with your blood,"_ He was standing far too close, causing uncomfortable shivers to run down Draco's back and all of his hair to stand on end, _"It would be a shame though, if he set you on fire like he did to Miller. Your flesh is so soft and smooth" _Draco was sure that he would be violently ill when Greyback ran his tongue down the side of his neck. _"Maybe he'll let me teach you a few things. I could think of a score of good lessons for a pretty little Mamma's boy like you." _Draco let out a small whimper of fear, which just made Greyback chuckle derisively. _"You never know little Malfoy. You may enjoy it."_

Feeling Snape's eyes on his back, Greyback moved away, and Draco let out a sigh of relief. He prayed that the Dark Lord would sooner kill him than hand him over to that monster. Snape stepped to his side again. "The Dark Lord will be in a celebratory mood tonight. His biggest threat has been removed. He has every reason to be happy." Draco heard the implied 'I'm sure that he'll let you live' that his godfather did not dare to tack on to the end of that sentence.

"You and I both know that a happy Dark Lord is just as dangerous as a furious one. You never know what he'll do." Draco's own voice surprised him, its soft deep tones portraying a calm beyond that which he had ever felt, "I know very well what fate could await me tonight Uncle. The only thing that concerns me is what might happen to Mother. Do keep an eye on her if anything should..." he trailed off, even in his detached state being unable to confirm his reality with complete sentences.

"Of course. I would never allow anything to happen to Narcissa. Nor would I allow anything to happen to you." Snape looked straight ahead as he said this, his voice as monotonic as if they were simply discussing the weather. His sentiment shocked Draco. He felt all of his earlier resentment slip away from his body. For a moment, he even allowed himself to feel safe in the comfort of Snape's words, almost believing that he could prevent the fate which awaited Draco on the other side of the Giant ornate doors that they were drawing ever closer to.

"I know. Thank you." This was the most they'd talked in the week spent in the cave waiting for the auror's manhunt to subside. They allowed silence to reign for the last few minutes of the walk, a bond forming that was not there before. All to soon they reached the main doors and with one final nod passing between them, Draco pushed the doors of his former home.

_I was born in this manor,_ he thought suddenly,_ I suppose that it is beautiful symmetry..._

The entrance hall was deathly silent, the only sounds being that of Draco and his five companion's footfalls across the marble floor. The nearer they got to the main parlour, however, the more noticeable faint buzzing of human conversation became. The sounds were not that of overt merriment, but more that of whispered triumph, and there was definitely a trace of anticipation in the muted voices.

Then a loud, cool voice cried out; "It appears that the guests of honour have arrived. Wormtail! Cease your ineptitude long enough to open the door for our most revered friends." His high cackle was heard around the room, joined by its usual choir of indulgent quiet laughter.

A moment later Wormtail opened the door and ushered them inside, with his usual clammy, nervous pallor and restless jumping eyes. When he saw Draco, however, he smirked. This beyond anything made Draco uneasy; for the lowest and most subservient of the Dark Lord's clan to look upon him with such open smugness was a most menacing omen indeed.

Draco attempted to keep his head held high. His father had always taught him that a Malfoy should be proud no matter what. It was a little difficult, however, when he was effectively walking to the gallows. Perhaps he would instead die how he lived – as a coward. The crowd parted to allow them to pass, some looking on indifferently, others gazing down at him with barely concealed malicious glee (you could almost hear the vultures circling, itching to grab at the opportunities the Dark Lord's first family being destroyed would bring). Out of the corner of his eye Draco saw his mother, ashen and frail, being held to the edge of the crowd by his Aunt Bellatrix. The week of apprehension and uncertainty had obviously taken its toll on her as well.

Finally, they reached the platform at the centre of the room, and the party of six turned their eyes up towards their master, lounging ostentatiously on a gaudy thrown, before hastily falling to their knees and bowing their heads. They all knew the protocol; move or address the Dark Lord before he acknowledges you and you would be tortured to insanity. They all waited patiently for him to speak, the tension in the room almost unbearable as their audience turned deathly still, and all eyes turned towards them.

"Lord and Lady Carrow, Kingsolver, rise." The three deatheaters rose to their feet, but kept their heads bowed slightly, not daring to make eye contact, as was the way. "I congratulate you all for your parts in the raid. There are not many from our side who returned, but as I understand it, thanks to your competence the other side felt loses just as great." He waved them away with long bored fingers, and then turned to the werewolf. "Greyback. You may rise. Last week you proved to me your undying loyalty and showed an unparalleled drive to eliminate all of our enemies. You have earned the Mark."

At this there began a murmuring through the crowd. This would not be a popular decision and Draco knew it. No one would openly challenge the Dark Lord's decree, but the old families would not be so quick to accept _any_ halfbreed into their midst, no matter how many of their enemies they ripped apart. Creatures like Greyback and his pack of mongrels should never be allowed a rank equal to wizards. To consent to such a thing would be allowing the creatures to get ideas above their stations. They are not the allies of wizards – simply the hired help that handle affairs not befitting to the higher level of the evolutionary chain. Draco also knew from what his father had shared with him that the Dark Lord would have to be a fool to not keep Greyback appeased. No matter what the old families will say, the werewolves play a vital part in the deatheaters' defences. For now they could not be lost.

Greyback, with a mad light in his eyes (Draco almost compared him to a child on Christmas, but then shook his head at the absurdity of the association), approached the Dark Lord's thrown, fell down on one knee and kissed his robes in perfect execution of the expected etiquette (a woman not far behind Draco remarked that it was _fascinating_ how well the creature had learned to imitate human behaviour). The Dark Lord raised his wand and, in parody of a monarch knighting a member of his court, began the incantation accompanied by the runes that would soon claim him another soul. Greyback, the unsuspecting victim, looked as if he would die of excitement as at last the Dark Lord touched his wand to the werewolf's left forearm, sealing him in his fate forever.

All at once, Draco was hit by a wave of cold panic. Greyback was withdrawing from the Dark Lord's side, and soon it would be _him_ that would hold the attention of those murderous crimson eyes. Soon he would have to account for what he had done.

However, his moment came and went as the Dark Lord skipped him over entirely, favouring to turn to his godfather and say; "Severus Snape. My most faithful and gifted servant. You are undoubtedly to be the most honoured of all my followers, for the great deed of slaying the old fool, and thorn in my side, Albus Dumbledore," Draco tried not to roll his eyes, hearing similar praise from the Dark Lord directed at countless people, knowing full well that by next week someone else would be his favourite most honoured follower for weeding his rose garden or knowing the correct time when asked, or something equally mundane.

The Dark Lord paused for a time, which unnerved Draco slightly. When his face lit up in a terrible grin, Draco's fears were confirmed – he wasn't skipped by accident. "Because you are the most accomplished and honoured guest tonight, the pleasure of handling the evening entertainment falls to you. Draco Malfoy, rise." Draco was sure that his heart was trying to break through his chest, and though his expression remained impassive, he was sure that sweat would soon stain his collar. "You and your family have failed me for the last time. Perhaps you can be joyous in the knowledge that your punishment is delivered by a man greater than a foolish boy such as your self could ever hope to be."

He gestured for Snape to begin the 'entertainment', and the only communication Draco received was an almost imperceptible look of remorse that ghosted over his godfather's features before the screaming and the pain began. The last thing he was conscious of was his mother being forcibly removed from the main chamber.

***

At that very moment, in a crooked house on the outskirts of Devon, Harry Potter woke up from one of the most vivid nightmares he had had in months. He shot up in his bed, heart hammering, trying to get his bearings in the blurry orange room, until realising the problem and reaching for his glasses.

"Are you alright, mate?" Ron's voice was slightly muffled by sleep, and he stared at his sweat drenched friend with bleary eyes. The nightmares had become such a common occurrence that they were not enough to shock the boy into full awareness anymore.

"Yeah," Harry choked out, taking a deep breath in. "Sorry about that. Go back to sleep." He waved reassuringly in Ron's direction, and the redhead gladly fell back onto his Cannons covered pillow, pulling the covers close and resuming his low snore in record time.

Harry knew better than to bother his friend with the events of his dream, no matter how much it scared him. He knew that he wouldn't understand why Harry would even care that he had just witness the torture of their school time nemesis, or fathom the reason that not knowing whether or not he would survive would give him this horrible tight feeling in his stomach. How could he, when Harry didn't know himself?

**A/N Don't want to nag, but please don't forget to review!**

**The next instalment can be expected in three days ******** Sooner if you review! Ciao**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello all. I'm very impressed with myself ******** Updating a whole day earlier than I said I would. It's a modern miracle. I'm trying something new, with more of Harry's POV in this chapter than before, so let me know what you think of it.**

**On a different note, I would like to thank MightyGryffindor for reviewing and kindly pointing out my mistakes. It has been a long time since I've read the sixth book, and I only really scanned the tower scene before I started writing again, so I have forgotten a few things. I have fixed Amycus and Alecto's last name in my previous chapters to the correct "Carrow". However, I decided that I would keep the change that Voldemort only just moved into the Manor. Please assume that the murder of Professor Burbridge, as well as the other happenings in the beginning of the sixth book happened at another location.**

**While we're talking about issues of Canon, in this story I am pretty much ignoring everything that happened in DH, besides a few bits and pieces. **

**Thanks for reading. Please review after you finish ******

Chapter 2: Dispelled Delusions

Harry Potter lay on his back on the ground hiding in a clump of bushes. Those familiar with his habits, when faced with this image, would assume that Harry was stuck at Privet Drive with nothing to do but hide from his aunt and uncle while listening to the television, but they would be shocked to discover that this clump of bushes was not in located in a suburb in Surrey, but in Devon at the Burrow, and Harry was not hiding from the Dursleys, but from the Weasleys. At this point one might ask if the real Harry had been spirited away or replaced by some polyjuiced Death Eater. The answer would be no.

Harry was hiding from many things. He was hiding from his ex-girlfriend, his best friends, Molly Weasley (a woman he considered a second mother), and Fleur Delacour and all the incessant wedding talk. Most of all, he was hiding from the letter in his pocket, weighing down on him as if it were lead; he was hiding from his reality, from what he had done and what he still needed to do; he was hiding from helplessness; he was hiding from his life. Now those previously perplexed with his behaviour would nod, satisfied that everything was finally adding up. It is not unusual for Harry Potter to spend a few hours of his time hiding from the world and feeling sorry for himself. In fact, it's perfectly in character, though one could hardly blame him for acting in a manner that teenagers were notorious for – especially given the fact that he's one of the few that have real cause for it.

Harry would deny that he was one that spent an excess amount of time sulking. Today was just one of those days that really called for it. First there was the waking up after one of the worst nightmares he'd had since Dumbledore's death, and being sufficiently weirded out to not fall back asleep despite the fact that it had been around four in the morning. He'd spent a lot of time asking himself why he was so upset about his mentor's would-be murderer getting the punishment he deserved (certainly the type that Harry had wanted to dish out himself). He still couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he supposed that seeing anyone tortured would raise certain emotions in a person, no matter who it was. Still, usually the feeling would leave him, and the happenings of his vision would fade from his minds' eye, unlike in this case where he couldn't banish the scenes of Malfoy's torture from his mind, or stop asking himself the question _did he survive? _or _is he okay?_ Not much one for dealing with his feelings, however, Harry vowed to suppress whatever this strange emotion was and get on with his day. That would've worked fine if it hadn't been for breakfast.

After waiting three and a half hours for the other residents of the house to rejoin the living, Harry plodded his way down the stairs to join Hermione and the Weasleys (minus Ron who would never see the sense in waking up before ten in the holidays) in the kitchen. Thankfully, Fleur was also still getting in some more '_beauty sleep'_. Harry was generally fond of the exuberant French woman, but last night she had cornered him with a wedding plan album, asking his opinion on everything from napkins to dresses (for some reason, she took his 'brave' actions in the Triwizard Tournament to mean that he would know the difference between 'Ivory' and 'Eggshell'), and he was not looking for a repeat performance. All he wanted to do was burry his troubles under heaps of home cooking, and forget all about this Malfoy nonsense. And God, did he need a cup of coffee. Mrs Weasley was just dealing out the eggs, toast and bacon when the post arrived. An unfamiliar brown owl landed next to Harry and presented him with his leg in a way that Harry would later describe as pompous and official. Hermione looked over his shoulder, and spying the Ministry seal at the same time in Harry let out a disapproving click of the tongue.

"They've got a lot of nerve writing to you after all they've done." She said, and then her irritated tone faded, giving into characteristic curiosity, "I wonder what its abou –"She never finished that sentence before another landed next to her with a similar letter, emblazoned with the ministry seal. A third owl then arrived with one addressed to the Weasley family. Mrs Weasley reached for this one, and the three letters were torn open simultaneously. As Harry began to read the letter, his grip on the parchment tightened in a sudden flash of anger.

_Master Harry James Potter_

_We wish to inform you that your presence is required on the Monday, July 10__th__ for the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, as he has named you as one of his beneficiaries. The reading will commence promptly at noon on the aforementioned date in courtroom nine of Ministry of Magic Headquarters, London. If you require any further information, or have any queries please address them to the Probate officer handling this matter; Linda Rosier, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Probate Office._

_We offer our sincere condolences, and look forward to seeing you on the 10__th__._

_Kind Regards,_

_Kendra Higgins_

_Head of Probate Office, Ministry of Magic_

Mrs Weasley and Hermione looked up from twin letters and fixed Harry with a concerned stare. For some reason, this made the inexplicable anger Harry had felt upon reading the letter intensify. He didn't know what brought about these emotions, as he had thought he had been dealing with his grief quite well. He caught himself glaring at the concerned women and immediately felt bad. He plastered a smile on his face, said he was fine, put the letter in his pocket and continued to butter his toast. However, the rage didn't dissipate; it just built up stronger in his chest.

Of course, it would be right at that moment that Fleur glided into the kitchen and informed him that today was to be spent looking at place settings and finding him "decent robes to replace zose 'orrible muggle rags, I inseest". Harry felt his hand begin to shake, and was sure that he had developed a sudden twitch in his eye, but he would've been able to keep it under control, had he not discovered that someone had finished the coffee, and that Mrs Weasley had run out of beans this morning.

In a burst of raw magic, Harry shattered his mug, and sent his plate and cutlery hurling across the room, almost killing (if not disfiguring for life) George. He let out a cry of frustration and, before his guilt over the mess could take over, he stormed out of the house. Not having the sense to heed her mother's advice to "Just leave him be" Ginny followed him out into the yard.

"Harry wait!" She cried out, "Look I'm sorry. I know that this must be really hard for you. We all miss Dumbledore. Come back inside – we could go to the Leaky Cauldron, just the two of us, and have a coffee and chat about it." Apparently she interpreted Harry's silence and stiff posture as an open invitation for a hug. As she wrapped her arms around him, he tried not to cringe, hating this reminder of their awkward physical relationship. He'd always hated it when she invaded his space. Though he never really was much one for hugs – he blamed the Dursleys for that particular hang-up.

"Look, I know you said that you couldn't be with me right now, and I said I was fine with that, but I can't stop thinking that it's such a waste." She said into his chest, "We're in a real war. Either one of us could die tomorrow. Don't you think that we should spend whatever time we have together being happy and there for each other?"

This had been the exact conversation Harry had been hoping to avoid and the perfect addition to his oh-so-wonderful morning. He half thought that he would've rather been cut down by Voldemort right then and there, just to escape saying those next few words that he now had to say.

"Look Ginny. I love you. But I don't think that it's in the way I thought I did... we're just not right. I was hoping that when I went away you'd have a chance to move on to someone else that would love you properly." She was staring at him with an expressionless face, and nervous of what conclusions an extended silence would bring her to, Harry blabbered on; "I know that it was terrible of me to not tell you the real reason, but I just didn't want to hurt you. I was a coward, and I'm really sorry. I just couldn't bring myself to say these things –"

She raised a small hand to silence him, and one look into her eyes told him that anger had won out in the battle of emotions in her head. "I can't believe you would have the nerve to lead me on like that. I was going to wait for you. I really was ready to, no matter how long you were gone, and you were going to let me?" The words came out in quiet rage, and Harry knew that the shouting would begin soon, "I WOULD HAVE DONE ANYTHING FOR YOU! I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING, AND YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH OF A SPINE TO TELL ME THE TRUTH? YOU SELFISH BLOODY BASTARD!" The grand finale came in form of water works, complete with an audience as the shouting had attracted the inhabitants of the kitchen - Ron now among them and looking as if he would rip Harry apart.

Ginny took off into the house now, and Ron and Hermione (with one last glare from Ron, and a questioning glance from Hermione) took off after her in an attempt to comfort her and get the rest of the story. That left Harry in a rather awkward position, standing in front of Mr and Mrs Weasley and four of Ginny's brothers. He had never quite noticed how _big_ Charlie's arms were until that very moment.

"Well, nothing to see here, you lot. Move it inside." Mr Weasley herded everyone inside, silencing Mrs Weasley's protests before they even began with the most commanding look Harry had ever seen him give anyone.

And these are the series of events that lead to Harry spending an immeasurable amount of time hiding in a clump of bushes, feeling very sorry for himself and not moving other than to cast the occasional hex on an unsuspecting garden gnome. He knew that he had long since missed lunch, but he was used to going long periods of time without much food, so the idea of a little hunger appealed to him far more than the idea of going inside and facing a possible confrontation with any of the people staying in the house.

_Oh shit, _he thought suddenly,_ I'm sharing a room with Ron..._ He began debating with himself whether or not he'd stay out here all night. _It might be fun_, he mused,_ I've never slept under the stars before. It would be just like camping..._ Now that was some serious denial

He once again went through all of the things that had happened over a period of just 4 hours to make him consider sleeping in a clump of bushes rather than go to his warm bed in his best friend's room. It was such a short time to mess everything up completely and make all your friends hate you. Couple that with dealing with concern for your enemy and the impending reading of the Will of your mentor, the summer holidays were shaping up to be pretty shite this year.

He thought that he was over Dumbledore dying; that he was just so used to dealing with grief that he did it quickly this time. _I suppose that was the denial phase everyone goes on about._ He supposed that he was really upset because the letter had reminded him that he still had a job to do, and no idea where to start.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Hermione call out his name timidly.

"Harry?" she half whispered, "Are you okay? Where are you?"

So it was time to face the music. Or rather the eight hour lecture. "I'm over here." He called in reply, exposing a hand.

"Thank goodness. You really shouldn't be wondering off you know." She said, sitting on the ground next to me. She was being oddly quiet and had a surprising lack of questions, content to just sit.

After ten minutes of comforting silence she looked at Harry again and said, "If you want to talk about it I'm here. Any of it. Don't worry about Ginny too much. She will get over it. Same goes for Ron. We're all still here for you. No matter what." Harry was very surprised by this statement, and it must have shown on his face clearly, "There's too many other, more important things for you to deal with right now than a bad break up. What kind of friends would we be if we left you to do all of this on your own because of a little teenaged drama?"

"I doubt Ron will see it that way. He's going to kill me." Harry mumbled.

"Actually no. I won't pretend that he wasn't a little upset, but when he calmed down a bit he felt the same way. He'll find us any minute now. He was just looking for you on the other side of the property."

As if in direct answer to Hermione's words, Ron rounded the corner and caught site of them. He stood shifting his weight around for a minute, before saying; "Hey mate. Where you been?"

"Just lying in the bushes. It's all the rage now. Everybody's doing it."

"Yeah well... let me know next time so I can come too. Gotta keep up with the trends you know." It was a little more strained than their normal banter, but Harry knew now that he was forgiven, and most of the tension melted away.

Harry Potter never would've guessed that a day that started off in such a terrible way could end so well, with his two best friends lying in the bushes next to him, watching the sunset over the fields. They sat there in alternate bouts of silence and joking, watching the last few streaks of orange disappear, until Ron flatly announced that he was too hungry to wait anymore, and all of them were going inside to have supper. Harry, who'd only had a few bites of toast that morning, agreed readily, and the three friends walked back to the house; Harry knowing all the while that as long as Ron and Hermione stuck with him, he could handle anything that was waiting for him

***

Draco observed his surroundings with a mix of disgust and resignation. He was surprised that he had the energy to feel either emotion after what he had been through. He sat down on the dusty cot and looked around the damp dank garden shack that would be his home for the next two months. He hadn't even been allowed a full days rest before he had been sent packing half way across the country. He wasn't yet fully healed yet from his four hour long ordeal. His godfather had stocked his bag full of pain relieving and healing potions when no one was looking, along with a short note that Draco had spent the last few minutes staring at.

_I'm sorry_

"So am I." Draco said into the silence.

And with that he lay his head down and attempted to get some much needed rest, despite the fact that the sun had only just set.

_At least exile is peaceful._

**A/N: And now would be the time for you to hit the review button *puppy eyes***


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey... wow... it's been a LONG time since I've updated this... Sorry everyone. Won't bore you with excuses, but I had a hectic week. I'm back though, and you can expect the next instalment in about three days.**

**Something is not exactly right with this chapter. I don't know what it is but I have a funny feeling about it. It's shorter than usual, but it's really just something I needed to get out of the way before the plot can get going (yes, there is a plot *shock*). Next one is already much longer and more entertaining.**

**As always, I'm begging you to take the time to review at the end of this chapter! Please, please, pretty please! It really helps me to write when I know that people care.**

**So on with the story!**

Chapter 3: Ghosts, Shadows and Memories

Stake out duty. This was the lowest of the low. After he had recovered well enough to get back some of his conceited and haughty attitude, Draco seemed to have an abundance of time in isolation to sulk. How could it possibly be that a Malfoy ends up with such a trivial task? Isn't this what they had half-breeds and servants like Wormtail for?

Then again, Draco supposed that he was now even lower than Wormtail in the eyes of the Death Eater clan. The thought of the dishonour that he had brought to his family, coupled with the fear of how his father would react when he saw him next (he was very fortunate that his father was away on a mission when he was brought in) reminded him of how lucky he was to only have to endure a few hours of torture for the Hogwarts fiasco before being dumped in this miserable garden shack.

The Dark Lord's instruction was to guard the house and to not use magic or abandon post under any circumstances. He must remain ever vigilant for intruders, and deal with any such irksome pests accordingly. He thought that it had been at least a month since he had been outside. The time here seemed to melt into itself, making each day dissolve into the next. He was living with a near constant headache and a sort of haze clouding all of his thoughts, making the images flitting across his inner eye clouded and murky.

For the first few days he was in too much pain to allow the isolation to get to him. He was mostly asleep or delirious under the influence of the potions he needed to take. For a few weeks after that, he had tried to convince himself that solitude was what he wanted; no nefarious plots to plan, no complex magical objects to fix, no headmasters to assassinate, no mother to make him tuck in his shirt and behave 'like a Malfoy'. He had to admit that this last thing to be thankful for was a little absurd and trivial, but then again his whole line of thought had been escapism at best, if not outright denial. He busied himself with inventing games in his head, thinking about good times with his friends and planning revenge on all of those that he blamed for his current predicament. After the third week he was sure that the silence would drive him mad. It was choking him, bearing down on him, and leaving him far too much time alone with his thoughts and his nightmares. It was almost too much to bear.

It didn't help that Wormtail – the person who brought him here – had told him all about the fate of the cottage's last resident. An old muggle caretaker, he had said; one foolish enough to eavesdrop on the Dark Lord, and idiotic enough to dare to challenge him. He was apparently the second victim of the Dark Lord since his downfall that fateful Halloween night almost 16 years ago.

"_He was so happy," _Wormtail had said, _"he was finally able to hold his wand on his own again. He took the more pleasure from the death of that worthless old muggle than any other since his first kill." _

Ever since he had been told the story, he had been having dreams that he was an old man, who he imagined was named Frank. He would have visions of himself limping around the cottage and the grounds of the house, shouting at the local teen vandals, and nursing his leg, which would get terrible pains. He saw that those from the village would always give him a wide berth the few times necessity caused him to venture into town - and the whispers that followed him were anything but kind. And as Frank, Draco felt himself being eaten away by the same seclusion that he dealt with in his waking hours.

He was not sure what his subconscious meant by generating such stories. Perhaps he needed to feel as though someone had shared this pain once; as if he was not as truly alone as he felt, even if his only company was imagined ghosts. He had always had a vivid imagination, he supposed. Back when his family still lived in the East Wing of the manor he used to dream that he was his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, whom he had never met due to his early death. The dreams became so vivid that his father and mother had to move to the West Wing before they could stop.

His most pressing problem, however, was not the visions of old limping caretakers, but that his supplies were running dangerously low. He wasn't permitted to leave, even to stock up on some much needed food, until someone was sent to fetch him. The Dark Lord said that even if he had a prisoner, he just had to keep them until he was summoned.

_I have no bloody idea why he's being so paranoid, _Draco thought to himself, staring up at the old abandoned house, trying to read its mysteries as if they were written within its broken windows, missing roof tiles and graffiti. _No one ever comes up here, and even if they did, why would they want to get into that dump? What could he be hiding?_

Those were dangerous thoughts that he shouldn't be having. The less he knew about what was in the house, the better it was for him. He was no foolish Gryffindor; he heeded the moral of the story of that famed curious feline. After all, he reasoned, there was always the chance that there was nothing of any importance at all in the decaying house, and the Dark Lord was simply toying with him by dumping him in the middle of nowhere. Yes, this was an explanation that he much preferred – the one that would most help him sleep at night.

He wasn't even allowed to send owls in case someone was watching the house, or use any magic as it could easily be detected. Draco had gone without any news from the Wizarding World the whole time he was here, official or otherwise. He wouldn't even know if the Dark Lord had won or fallen. He was completely disconnected from everything and everyone. Some days he caught himself worrying whether his family was still alive, or perhaps being tortured by either side. He knew that he couldn't dwell on these kinds of thoughts either – his family was the only thing that kept him going, and if he let himself believe that they were anything but perfectly fine he would drive himself truly insane. Still, he wished that he could at least send his mother a letter and see if she was alright.

His thoughts turned for a second to the care packages his mother used to send every week, and as his stomach cramped again in protest to the minuscule rations, he could not believe how he felt embarrassed at the gesture. He swore to himself that if he ever got out of this war he would never take anything his mother did for him for granted ever again. What would he give now just to know that she was alright?

Draco attempted to keep himself awake but his eyelids seemed to weigh heavier as every hour dragged by. Between the dreams of Frank and those of staring into pitiless red eyes while pain unimaginable coursed through his body, he had been avoiding sleep for two days now. He was also afraid that if this stake out duty _was _just another of the Dark Lord's games, he might set him up by staging an intrusion – or worse yet, the decaying house really held something of importance, and there would be a real break in. Either way, if he failed again he wasn't sure that he would make it this time. Still, he supposed, even if someone did try something now, he was so tired that they could easily overpower him.

_I'll just rest for a minute, _he told himself, _I won't even really sleep, just rest._

He lay down in his cot and stared at the decaying wooden roof, imagining pictures into the many swirls and knots in the planks. One looked disturbingly like a pair of angry, crazed eyes surveying his every move. He quickly flipped himself over to stare at a new patch of the ceiling

Just as he was lulled into a drowsy stupor, he heard a noise. Sitting up quickly, cursing himself for letting his guard down, he grabbed his wand and peered out of the window. In the evening mist he made out a figure climbing through one of the bottom floor windows.

"Well I guess that things are finally going to get interesting around here."

***

Harry crouched low in the bushes and surveyed his surroundings wearily. This was the third lead he'd gotten in the last month and he hoped to high heaven that this was not another dead end. The sapphire quill of Ravenclaw. It was hard to believe that this old abandoned house could possibly hold such a treasure with its missing roof-tiles, rotting doors, and its shattered windows that told of the village's young vandals. If his research was correct, then this was the Riddle House; the house in which Tom Riddle the first had lived and died with his parents.

Harry had done research on the house in the town's library. Its occupants had appeared many times in the local paper. The Riddles were a very wealthy family and often donated hefty sums of money to various charities and were the chief contributors to the hospital's children's wing. However, the snide images of Mr. and Mrs. Riddle added to his suspicion that they were not the loved and respected people that they were made out to be. When he read the story about the Riddles' mysterious death and saw the picture of the old house on the hill, as well as the familiar form of Tom the first that he had observed in Dumbledore's Pensive, he became certain that he had the right place. Although Dumbledore had made the general area of Voldemort's family home known to him before his death, the Dark Lord had been very thorough at planting decoys. The last house Harry had tried had yielded nothing more than a broken arm after he was ambushed by a particularly nasty group of goblins. However, after a few nights of stake out the house did indeed seem quiet and abandoned, so with a cautious yet determined air he edged closer to the house.

**A/N: I wonder if anyone caught the hint about where the story is going to go... Cyber cookies to the one that figures it out!**

**Please REVIEW! **


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